


Conversations

by fuzipenguin



Series: Give and Take [5]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Other, Sticky, Talking, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversations between the four main characters in regards to Jazz and Optimus' blossoming relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acquiescence

**Author's Note:**

> Jazz admits to wanting to try something new. This is a direct continuation of 'Five Times Jazz...'

                Optimus watched Jazz turn back and face him as Sideswipe left the room. Despite the visor blocking the view of Jazz’s optics, Optimus could still sense the general air of apprehension surrounding his lover.

                “What is this about?” Optimus asked quietly, using the data pad to gesture at the room around them. He had made his way down here at Sideswipe’s request, to evaluate a possibly unsecure portion of the Ark’s structure.

                Despite some of Sideswipe’s more… unsavory… practices, Optimus knew that he was a good spark, devoted to the Autobot cause. He had assumed this storage area was one that the frontliner had been using for some nefarious purpose when he had noticed the security issue and called for help. As Prowl was out of the Ark still visiting the Portland Police Department, and Red Alert was undergoing routine maintenance, that had left either himself or Jazz to notify.

                While Sideswipe and Jazz had always been close, the self proclaimed morale officers of the ship, lately they had seemed to be avoiding one another. Or perhaps, only one mech was doing the avoiding. Now that Optimus thought about it, Jazz _had_ been acting a little cagey lately.

                “I’m gonna kill him,” Jazz matter of factly informed Optimus, looking over his shoulder at the door one last time.

                “I really wish you wouldn’t. Besides being a rather effective warrior, he does manage to keep his brother in line. Most of the time.”

                “You have no idea,” Jazz muttered, rubbing a hand along the back of his helm.

                “Jazz. Please tell me,” Optimus asked. If it had been a war-related issue, Optimus knew Jazz wouldn’t have had a problem coming forward. Which left a personal issue.

                Oh.

                His spark thumped a little faster in his chest. More than one mech had speculated that Jazz would get bored and move on. Was that was Sideswipe had been trying to tell him the other night?   “Are you… breaking things off with me?” Optimus asked hesitantly.

                Jazz’s head whipped up from where he had been studying the floor. “What?! No!”

                He strode forward, fitting himself neatly between Optimus’ knees and placing both hands on Optimus’ shoulders. His third in command was half a head taller now that Optimus was seated on this ridiculously short stool. “No, definitely not. I… I really like being with you, Opt.”

                Optimus lifted one hand and placed it on Jazz’s lower back, charmed at the almost shy admission. “I like being with you as well. But I sense there is something you are not telling me. And it is obviously important enough for Sideswipe to go to such elaborate lengths to bring us together.”

                “Sideswipe’s meddling where he shouldn’t; I was going to tell you. Eventually,” Jazz muttered.

                “He gave me this data pad…” Optimus said, raising it up. Jazz immediately snatched it from his hand and deposited into his subspace. Optimus blinked in surprise at his empty hand and then looked up to see a sheepish expression cross Jazz’s faceplates.

                “Did you… uh… did you read any of it?” Jazz asked.

                “No. I had just turned it on when you walked in.”

                Jazz’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, ok. Good.”

                Optimus placed both hands on Jazz’s hips and very gently shook the shorter mech. “I would really appreciate you telling me what is going on, Jazz,” Optimus said, tone belaying his exasperation. “Is there something I’m doing wrong? Something you want?”

                “You’re doing everything right, Optimus,” Jazz sighed. “You’re doing everything _so_ right, that’s the thing.”

                “You’ve lost me,” Optimus said truthfully.

                Jazz suddenly broke away and began pacing the confines of the small room. “I have a reputation; I know it, everyone knows it. I don’t settle, that’s not my thing. I think this is the longest I’ve stayed in the same mecha’s berth for…well… ever.” Jazz paused to tilt his head in consideration and then sharply nodded.

                “You make me feel… safe. Protected. I’ve always trusted you to lead us, but now… now I trust you with… me.” Jazz came to a stop in front of Optimus, hand splayed across his chest.

                Optimus’ spark warmed at the words. He had invited Jazz into his berth, knowing full well the mech’s reputation. He had hoped their relationship would progress past a one night stand, but had still remained cautious, holding a little of his spark in reserve.

                “There are things I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Things in the berth,” Jazz said, shooting a furtive glance at Optimus. “Things I haven’t trusted anyone to do for me, to me. But now there’s you.”

                “What ‘things’ are you speaking of?” Optimus delicately asked.

                Jazz paused again before speaking. “Dominance play.”

                Optimus got the impression that Jazz was cringing, although his posture had changed not one whit. Optimus wanted to go to his lover, enfold him in his arms, but wasn’t sure if that would be taken as threatening.

                “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of experience with that type of interfacing,” Optimus said honestly.

                “Neither did I. I had to recruit some help to get more information,” Jazz replied with a toss of the head indicating the door behind him.

                “The twins?” Optimus asked, surprised.

                Jazz nodded. “They hooked me up with some files. Which is probably what is on the ‘pad.”

                “The ‘visual aids’.” Optimus shook his head ruefully. “You’ve been trying to tell me this for a while now.”

                “Yeah,” Jazz said, scuffing the floor with one pede, looking adorably like a chastised youngling. “I didn’t quite know how to bring it up.”

                “May I have the device back?” Optimus asked, holding out his hand.

                Jazz looked startled at the question. “Really?”

                “I’m willing to try new things, but I would like as much information as possible before I begin.”

                Looking a little astonished, Jazz slowly reached into his subspace pocket and withdrew the pad, handing it over.

                “You’re really ok with this,” he marveled.

                “I am all right with learning more,” Optimus amended. “And starting slow.”

                “Yeah, mech, absolutely! I’m just glad you’re open to it!” Jazz said, practically bouncing in place.

                “It is obviously important to you,” Optimus said, taking a chance and standing. He walked over to his lover and tenderly cupped his cheek. “I could do nothing less.”

                In a quicksilver blur of motion, Jazz leapt upon Optimus, winding his legs around Optimus’ waist and hanging on to his neck. Optimus automatically grabbed Jazz’s aft to support him, earning himself a brilliant smile. He wriggled in Optimus’ hold, prompting him to squeeze that delectable rear end.

                “You’re awesome, you know that?” Jazz leaned forward and nuzzled up under Optimus’ chin. His heated ex-vents wafted across Optimus’ neck cabling, and he shivered.

                “You are not so bad yourself,” Optimus returned, voice dropping an octave. He moved forward until Jazz’s back pressed up against the door, sliding his hands down to grip the backs of Jazz’s thighs. His spread fingertips wrapped around the inside of Jazz’s legs and were warmed by the heat radiating from Jazz’s interface panel.

                “Yeah? You wanna show me what you see in me?” Jazz asked with a devilish glint of his visor. He undulated against the door, pelvis pushing up against Optimus’ own.

                “That may take awhile,” Optimus purred. “How long do we have?”

                “Long enough,” Jazz promised over the sound of his interface panel retracting.

\--

 

                Sideswipe was so involved in his book that the rhythmic banging didn’t really register until it was accompanied by a sharp cry. He startled, looking up and across the hallway to where the storage room door was vibrating. Another muffled cry sounded, followed by a deeper murmur.

                Sideswipe grinned. Well, apparently _that_ had gone well.

                He shifted in place at the sudden bloom of heat spreading through his lower belly, and tucked his data pad away. It didn’t look like his services would be needed after all, so no point in hanging around here.  

                _Hey, Sunny._

 _What?_ came the immediate, irritated response. Sideswipe checked the schedule and yup, monitor duty always bored the internals out of his brother. Fortunately, shift change was due to occur in another few minutes.

                _Think you’re up to_ _fragging my brains out once you get back to our quarters?_

There was the barest of pauses before Sunstreaker replied and this time, his tone was much more congenial. _Shouldn’t be a problem. What set you off?_

_Doing my civic duty._

This pause was a lot longer. _You are really weird. Good thing you got your looks going for you, or we’d have a problem._

Sideswipe threw his hand back and laughed, sending a quick data burst to Jazz to remind him that the shifts would be changing soon. This hallway wasn’t often used, but it still got _some_ traffic. Jazz probably didn’t care one bit if he and Optimus were caught in a delicate position, but Prime seemed a little more circumspect.

                If anything, the banging became faster.

                _Good thing, then. See you in a few, bro._

 

~ End Chapter 1


	2. Plans

                Optimus knocked on Prowl’s open door and stepped inside when the other mech raised his head.

                “Sir? What can I help you with?” Prowl inquired politely, surrounded on all sides by neat stacks of data pads. Optimus felt a brief pang of envy.

                “I noticed Sideswipe was assigned to you for his next shift,” Optimus commented. “Is there a particular reason why?”

                “Mmm,” Prowl said, nodding. “I’ve noticed him skulking about a bit more than usual. Red Alert informed me just the other day that Jazz was seen entering the twins’ quarters several times in the past few weeks. I fear they may be planning something, so I’ve been trying to keep an optic on him.”

                “Oh?” Optimus questioned. It was always possible that Sideswipe was planning the next big prank. However, Optimus suspected those visits had been Jazz seeking out information on the topic he had just brought to Optimus’ attention. Not that he could tell Prowl that.

                “Yes. Jazz is a bit trickier to monitor but between the two of us, hopefully we have it covered,” Prowl added. Optimus’ blossoming relationship was not known to the crew, but all the officers had been made aware to help them both keep subjectivity.

                “I’ll try and keep him distracted,” Optimus said with an amused chuckle. “Does it matter where Sideswipe does the office work? I must admit, my office is becoming a bit disorganized.”

                Prowl’s expression changed to one of barely hidden exasperation. “Sir, you really must keep better track of all your correspondence,” he chided. “I’ll adjust the roster accordingly. I suppose as long as some officer has him under surveillance that would be fine.”

                Optimus smiled behind the battle mask. “Thank you, Prowl. I’ll keep watch over him.”

                His second in command had already dived back into his work and merely absently waved in acknowledgement. Fondly shaking his head, Optimus left Prowl’s office and meandered back to his own.

 

-

 

                Optimus hadn’t been lying when he had said he was behind on his paperwork. Several hours later, he was startled out of a reading haze by a soft knock on his door.

                “Come in!” Optimus called out, checking his chronometer.

                His office door slid aside and a black helmeted head emerged in the opening. “Uh, Prime, sir? Roster said I’m on office duty with you.”

                “Yes,” Optimus said, waving Sideswipe forward. “You were originally with Prowl, but I convinced him that I needed the assistance more.” Optimus gestured to the leaning towers of reports and mail that he still hadn’t had a chance to look through yet.

                Sideswipe grinned as he moved fully into the room and surveyed the mess. “Don’t know what ya mean. I still see floor.”

                “Well, while that might for suffice for your quarters, this is unfortunately a little much for my office,” Optimus said ruefully.

                “You’re the boss,” Sideswipe replied cheerfully, propping his fists on his hips and looking around him in a slow circle. “So what do you want me to do exactly?”

                Optimus paused and took stock of his different piles. “That stack there – those are appearance requests from various organizations and other countries. They all conflict with other commitments and need to be replied to. You can start there by writing responses to the originating parties.”

                “’Prime be busy, find some other chump to smile and wave’,” Sideswipe summarized. “Got it.”

                “Please do not actually write that, Sideswipe,” Optimus said with a wince. “These are several form letters that you can use.” He data burst a set of pre-written replies that could be adjusted for personalization.

                Sideswipe took a second to look over them before shrugging. He grabbed the stack that Optimus had indicated and plopped himself down on the floor in front of Optimus’ desk.

                “There are several chairs, you know,” Optimus pointed out, leaning out of his seat and across the desk. Sideswipe looked up at him, a cheeky grin flashing across his faceplates.

                “Naw. Too much like I’m in trouble.” Then he bent his head and promptly set to work.

                Optimus smiled, seating himself once more. As long as Sideswipe was occupied, Optimus didn’t particularly care where he was sitting.

                Optimus dove back down into the report he had been reading, buoyed by the sound of another’s ventilations. The amount of paperwork he had to complete was never insurmountable, but sometimes it got lonely in his office. Feeling another field brush up against his own was comforting.

                He had just finished his fourth report review when Sideswipe piped up from the level of Optimus’ feet. “Done, boss ‘bot. Where do you want them?”

                “Once you have sent the replies, you can wipe the pads and place them in the recycle pile over by the door.” There was a receptacle for that very purpose. Sadly, it was rather empty at this point.

                Sideswipe spent a moment doing as Optimus had indicated before lithely rolling to his feet. He strolled across the office and placed the devices into the recycling box. “What now?” he inquired.

               “Much the same for that stack,” Optimus said, pointing to a smaller pile. “Except those requests are to be accepted. I would appreciate it if you read through those inquires in detail. If you think there would be a crew member who would enjoy attending the function with me or even in my place, please make a note of it and forward it on to me.”

                “Sure!” Sideswipe chirped, grabbing the pile and resuming his former position. Optimus was just beginning his second stack of reports when Sideswipe sent a small data burst of information. The invitations were summarized in one or two brief sentences with two thirds of them tagged with potential crew members. Many of them were ones who Optimus himself had already thought of, but one made him pause.

                “You think Sunstreaker would enjoy the art gallery exhibition?” he questioned, leaning over the edge of his desk. Sideswipe looked up, craning his neck around to do so.

                “He used to paint and sculpt until the war,” Sideswipe said, his expression turning sad for a moment before brightening. “We’ve been to one or two galleries on the coast, but that sounds like a big one, so I’m sure he’d love to see it.”

                “Perhaps I should send him on his own then,” Optimus said, musing aloud. Sideswipe’s expression rapidly turned alarmed.

                “Uh, no, I don’t recommend that, sir. He can get pretty heated about art, especially if someone questions his opinion,” Sideswipe cautioned.

                Optimus tilted his head in consideration. “Then we shall attend together. Please send those replies and then erase the devices like the others; I have forwarded your personnel recommendations on to Prowl for him to plan the duty roster accordingly.”

                “Sure thing,” Sideswipe said, bending his head to complete the task. A few minutes later, he stood and carried the stack of pads over to the receptacle, gently placing them inside.

                “Next?”

                Optimus looked around his office, trying to decide what else would be a suitable task. After a moment of contemplation, Sideswipe interrupted Optimus’ thoughts.

                “Prime, sir, no offense, but did you really have Prowl change the roster around just for me to play secretary?” Sideswipe asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an orbital ridge.

                Optimus felt his spark flutter. “I needed the assistance,” he said, gesturing at the wobbly stacks of reports.

                “Yeah, but any of the crew would have been happy to help you. Why me?”

                Optimus blinked at the frontliner. This was Optimus’ chance, the opportunity to have his questions answered and in a private setting.

                “Prowl is worried you’re planning a new prank and wants you watched,” he blurted out instead.

                Well… that wasn’t what he meant to say at all. He felt a sudden sympathy for Jazz.

                Sideswipe waved a nonchalant hand through the air. “I’m always planning something new; what’s different this time?”

                “He said Jazz has visited your quarters several times in the past few weeks,” Optimus continued.  

                Sideswipe’s optics narrowed. “You know why he was visiting, and it certainly wasn’t because of a prank. It’s for the same reason I’m here now, isn’t it?”

                Optiums refused to squirm in his seat, but it was a close thing. “I really don’t know what you are referring to.”

                A look of disbelief crossed Sideswipe’s faceplates. He dropped his arms and determinedly strode over to one of the office chairs, grabbing it and dragging it to the side of the desk. Optimus watched him, puzzled.

               “Sir, if you want me to continue to organize data pads, I’ll happily do it, just give me the word. Otherwise I’m gonna sit down and we can talk about what the things Jazz wants you to do to him. Ok?” Sideswipe said, and waited for Optimus to speak.

               Optimus shouldn’t have been surprised at Sideswipe’s straight forwardness; it was somewhat of the frontliner’s trademark, after all.

               It was also exactly what Optimus needed.

               He gestured to the chair. “Please, sit. I have many questions.”

 

~ End Chapter  2


	3. Partnerships

              “All right, whatcha got for me, Prime? Did you read the info packet I gave you? I reorganized the files on it from what Jazz had originally; also took out a few things that were probably more extreme than two beginners should try,” Sideswipe said, plopping down in the chair and throwing one arm over the back of it. He looked at Optimus expectantly.

              Optimus stared back, suddenly speechless. Jazz had answered some of Optimus’ questions, but many others had received a ‘you should ask Sideswipe’. Seeking advice from the twins was not a frequent occurrence; and to do so regarding such a delicate topic... awkward was probably too mild a word. He suddenly wished he had instructed Sideswipe back to ‘secretary’ work.

              As the silence dragged on, Sideswipe fidgeted and then finally spoke up.  

               “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Sideswipe asked hesitantly.

              Optimus glanced at Sideswipe askance. “I thought you were doing that already?”

              Sideswipe grinned unabashedly. “Yeah, I kinda was, huh? Well, this is the official ask.”

              “You have permission.”

              Sideswipe nodded. “Good. Then same to you.”

              Optimus startled. “I beg your pardon?”

              “Look,” Sideswipe began, leaning forward earnestly, “I know this is weird, right? It was weird with Jazz and half the time I forget he’s an officer. So let’s just acknowledge it and move on.”

              “It is… a unique situation,” Optimus commented, relaxing slightly, relieved to find Sideswipe thought this awkward as well.

              “Damn straight. So what do you want to know?”

              Optimus considered the warrior. “How do you know all this?” he finally asked.

              Sideswipe looked taken back for a moment. “Oh… ok. Thought you were gonna ask me the best way to use a flogger, but we can start with Sunny and me, I guess. Well, last year, we stumbled onto BDSM accidentally. I started hand-feeding Sunny some energon treats, and it just brought him right out of a raging fit. I hadn’t seen him that peaceful since before the war started, you know?

             “So I looked into it. Pulled some things off Teletraan’s library and looked the rest up on the human’s internet. It’s been a lot of trial and error since then, but we’ve got a system down now.”

             “I see,” Optimus said, only somewhat reassured. So the ‘experts’ didn’t have that much more experience than Jazz or himself. “And it helps Sunstreaker?”

             “Helps the both of us,” Sideswipe stated. “It’s brought us even closer, for sure. Given me the control I didn’t even know I wanted and has really settled Sunstreaker.”

             Optimus thought back and realized that the twins’ brawling _had_ actually decreased in its frequency and intensity over the past year. The amount of infighting that had involved Sunstreaker had been less as well.

             “Good,” Optimus said, truly meaning it. All his soldiers were precious to him and it warmed his spark to know that the twins had found a little bit of peace during wartime.

             “And before you ask, I top about 95% of the time. Which is why Jazz told you to ask me about any questions you may have,” Sideswipe continued. “Tricks of the trade and all that.”

             Optimus thought about his next words carefully. “It does not seem that you have been doing this for very long…”

             “So why trust me?” Sideswipe interrupted with a wry grin. “No, I get it,” he said when Optimus started to protest. “You’re cautious, which is good in a dominant, especially a new one.

             “All I can say is that I don’t know of anyone else on the Ark into dominance and submission; you can certainly ask around, but that may be even weirder than this conversation. You can do your own research, but I don’t know if you would find anything more than I could. Finally, I’m responsible for my brother’s physical and emotional well being when we’re in session together. I’ve researched until my optics fritzed and planned every session as if Prowl was looking over my shoulder. I can’t say I haven’t made mistakes, though. I’m not a perfect top; but I’d like to think I’m a good one. So… do you think you can trust me?”

             Optimus watched as a stillness settled over Sideswipe the longer he spoke, his posture and wording subtly changing. It was if he matured thousands of years right in front of Optimus’ optics. And that, more than anything, convinced Optimus.

             It wasn’t even a nanoclick before Optimus dipped his head in agreement. “Yes. I do.”

             Sideswipe beamed, his shoulders relaxing in relief.

             “Awesome! Well, I’ll do my best… give you all the information I have. But foundational stuff first… do you understand what Jazz is asking of you?”

            Optimus thought about the question carefully. “From my reading, I understand that Jazz is handing control of himself over to me. I would be caring for him in a predetermined way.”

            Sideswipe smiled. “That’s a good way to summarize it. I think that the most important thing for any top to know is that he is responsible for his submissive’s needs and wellbeing.”

            “Jazz has told me of some of his wants,” Optimus commented. “One of my concerns is that I may not be… forceful enough?” Optimus frowned behind the mask. “I’m not sure if that is the word I’m looking for.”

             “A lot of it is about your tone, how you hold yourself. You’re a leader, Prime,” Sideswipe said. “On the battlefield, you give an order and expect it to be obeyed. It should be the same during a session. You don’t need actual physical force. The two of you may agree to that at some point, but it’s more about presenting yourself in such a way that your bottom _craves_ submitting to you. If you’re unsure of yourself, they may not feel safe or confident you can take care of them.”

             Optimus considered Sideswipe’s words, remembering how pliant Jazz would sometimes get when Optimus deepened his voice or growled into Jazz’s audial during interfacing. “I think I understand.”

             “I think a good first session for you two would be you practicing giving commands and Jazz practicing obeying them. For example, you could direct him to uh… please you… in some way,” Sideswipe said, waving a flustered hand through the air. It was the first time that Sideswipe’s confidence had faltered since he had entered the office, and Optimus grinned behind his mask.

             “That sounds agreeable,” Optimus said. “I’m not yet comfortable with the thought of hurting Jazz, so I think that is a good idea.”

             Sideswipe shifted in his seat, a flash of unease crossing his faceplates. “Jazz admitted to wanting to be punished. And that’s a perfectly ok thing to need or want, just… be careful, Prime. You can punish through pleasure just as well as pain; don’t do anything you yourself are not comfortable with.”

             “But I may have to go outside my comfort zone in the future. Doesn’t my position entail me creating an environment or scene that reflects Jazz’s needs?” Optimus countered. “So pain may become a part of our sessions, if that is what Jazz desires.”

             “This is a _partnership_ ,” Sideswipe emphasized, raising a warning finger. “When the two of you start out, it may be very tempting to do whatever Jazz suggests, because he’s the one pushing for this. You should definitely experiment, but at any point in time you feel like things are going too far, it is _your_ responsibility to stop, especially when Jazz won’t or isn’t able to. You are in charge of _both_ of your needs, not just his.”

             “What if… I am never able to go as far as Jazz wants?” Optimus asked slowly. Sideswipe had mentioned removing some of the acts from the datapad he had thought too extreme for two beginners; much of what remained still made Optimus uncomfortable.

             Sideswipe leaned back in his chair and gave Optimus an apologetic shrug. “Can’t help you there, Prime. Everyone’s got limits, and that’s ok. You would have to discuss that with Jazz as to what that means to you both.”

             Optimus ex-vented heavily. “This is more complicated than I first thought.”

             “It doesn’t have to be. It all comes down to trust. The rest can be shaped by lists of what you’re both interested in doing and what turns you off. Start there,” Sideswipe suggested.

             “I fear my ‘interested’ list is very short,” Optimus said, frowning.

             “That’s ok,” Sideswipe said reassuringly. “You’ll be starting off real slow. Once you get some experience, you may find things that you never thought you’d do suddenly appealing. Pit, I never thought I would like fisting. Mmm… now it’s one of my favorite things to do,” he said with a delighted shiver.

             Almost immediately, Sideswipe shook himself. “But you…” he said, pointing to Optimus, “… _you_ are not allowed to do that with Jazz. Got it?”

             All Optimus could do was blink rapidly, more than a little gobsmacked. What on Earth was fisting and why was he not allowed to do it with Jazz?

 

~ End Chapter 3


	4. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker gets a visitor

                The door to their room pinged, announcing someone wanting entrance. Sunstreaker ignored it; it was never for him anyway.

                Half a minute later, there was an old-fashioned knock. Sunstreaker ignored that too. It shouldn’t take long for the mecha at the door to realize no one was home.

                Just when Sunstreaker had thought the visitor had given up, the ping repeated. Then again two seconds later. And again another two seconds after that. And again, and again…

                Sunstreaker gripped his paintbrush tighter and tighter until finally he gently placed it in the bucket of water by his side, snarling a vile curse all the while. Still growling obscenities, he pushed himself to his feet and stomped over to the door, violently flinging it aside.

                “Hi, Sun-ack!”

                Jazz’s greeting was cut off by the golden hand that shot out and closed around Jazz’s neck. Sunstreaker dragged the saboteur through the doorway and without looking, flung him in the general direction of the couch. Whether or not Jazz landed on the softer surface was up to him.

                “What do you want?!” Sunstreaker thundered, turning to see that Jazz had in fact made it to the piece of furniture and was now sprawled there, massaging his throat.

                “Why’d you bring me inside?” Jazz questioned, vocalizer a bit strained. “You coulda just said you weren’t taking visitors.”

                “No cameras in here,” Sunstreaker spat, pointing at the ceiling. “So if you continue to piss me off, no one will see me kill you. What the frag do you want? I was busy.”

                “Sideswipe not here?” Jazz asked, pushing himself into a proper seated position. He craned his neck around, trying to see into their berth room.

                “He’s doing inventory with Ratchet. Which you would have known if you had just checked the roster instead of stopping by,” Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at the third in command.

                Slagitall, why did Sideswipe have to go and adopt the scrawny bot? Now he was here all hours of the day and night, and Sunstreaker never had a moment’s peace. Course, being Sideswipe’s twin, that was par for the course anyway. But at least he knew what to expect with Sideswipe.

                “Huh. Must have misread that. Well,” Jazz said, shrugging, “I guess I can tell _you_ then.”

                “No, you’re not telling me anything,” Sunstreaker said decisively, striding over and intending to grab Jazz and throw him right back through the door. Jazz and Optimus’ little tryst was supposed to have gone down last night, and Sunstreaker was betting Jazz was feeling the urge to spill all the details. Well, Sunstreaker wasn’t having any of it; just because they were both subs didn’t mean they had to be friends.

                Jazz neatly slipped out from under Sunstreaker’s reaching hand and bounced to his feet. “Hey, what’s that?”

                The third in command darted over to Sunstreaker’s work station, leaning over and peering intently at the canvas sitting on its easel. “Are you painting?!”

                Sunstreaker stormed over and shoved Jazz out of the way, grabbing a drop cloth and throwing it over the easel. “No. I don’t paint.”

                Jazz’s visor was eerily bright as he gestured towards Susntreaker’s paint speckled fingers. “You sure about that? It was beautiful, Sunny. Truly amazing.”

                Sunstreaker shrugged angrily, embarrassed at the praise. “It’s not even finished. And don’t call me that.”

                “Sure, Sunshine. Even as a work in progress though, it was gorgeous. Lots of red. Some kind of abstract of Sideswipe or somethin’?” Jazz asked, fingering the cloth and peering behind it.

                Sunstreaker growled and lashed out, grabbing Jazz around the wrist and squeezing. “Leave. It.”

                He didn’t let anyone other than Sideswipe see his finished work and if there had been a way to keep his brother from seeing the in progress pieces, he would have done it. Hard to hide what he was doing though, when space was a premium on the ship.

                Jazz froze, hand flexing within Sunstreaker’s grip. His other arm rose up in a universal surrender motion. “Hey, mech, sorry. Didn’t meant to pry.”

                He looked truly contrite, and Sunstreaker realized he was holding onto a commanding officer probably a little tighter than necessary. He released him and took a step back, trying to rein in his temper. Sideswipe would say Jazz meant no harm, and Sunstreaker’s artwork was too amazing to be kept to just the two of them. But Sideswipe couldn’t even draw stick figures, so what did he know?

                “Optimus, actually,” Sunstreaker muttered, grabbing another cloth and wiping his hands clean of the specks of paint. “Haven’t had a chance to add in the blues yet; which I’ll do when you leave. Sides will be back in a few more hours. Come back then.”

                “I’ll wait,” Jazz chirped and dropped into the chair he usually occupied when he visited.

                “Jazz, I don’t want you here! Get out!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, feeling what little patience he had slipping away. Jazz was being odd, even for him, and Sunstreaker just wanted the few hours he had away from Sideswipe to do with what he wanted. Which was to paint. Alone.

                The saboteur frowned. “I’ll be quiet. Promise. I just… I just want some company.”

                Sunstreaker was a hair’s breadth away from grabbing his supplies and storming out when he noticed the tense set of Jazz’s shoulders. He looked closer to see Jazz’s fingers trembling as he laced them together in his lap.

                Damnit. Oh, Sideswipe was gonna owe him for this one.

                “When did Prime leave?” Sunstreaker asked, resigned. Jazz looked up at him and then down at the floor.

                “Few hours ago.”

                “You been this weird since then?” Sunstreaker asked bluntly.

                 “I can’t stop…” Jazz waved a wild hand through the air. He looked at Susntreaker beseechingly. “I’m giddy one moment and then depressed the next. What the Pit is wrong with me? I thought this was supposed to make things better, not worse.”

                Sunstreaker sighed, walking over to the couch and lowering himself upon it. “You’re dropping, probably.”

                “Dropping?” Jazz questioned.

                “Yeah, out of subspace. I mean, I’m assuming things went good last night?” Sunstreaker asked, wincing a little out of anticipation of the answer. He really just didn’t care.

                _Your stray is here. He’s… being weird. Bipolar,_ Sunstreaker informed his twin over the bond.

                There was a moment of silence before Sideswipe responded. _Stay with him. I’ll try and scoot out early, but it’s Ratchet. You know he’s got optics in the back of his helm._

_Ugh. You owe me._

_You got it, bro._

“Things were… amazing,” Jazz reported, leaning forward in his excitement. “I can’t even… you probably don’t… well, actually you probably do understand… my head was just…” Jazz made a fluttering motion with one hand above his head.

                “We woke up out of recharge, and it was _still_ good,” Jazz gushed. “And then Opt left for that trip to Seattle and my quarters got so _quiet_ … I have a shift in four hours and I can’t… my head won’t stop spinning!”

                Sunstreaker studied the vibrating saboteur and had absolutely no idea what to do. This was definitely Sideswipe’s area of expertise. Sunstreaker had never come out of subspace like this before. It had always been gradual and Sideswipe had been there the entire time, nudging him out of his negative thoughts when they started returning.

                So. A distraction.

                Sunstreaker abruptly stood, going over to his storage locker and digging inside until he pulled out a blank canvas. He went to his easel, Jazz watching him the entire time with a confused look on his faceplates. Sunstreaker took the unfinished painting off, setting it to the side with care, and placed the blank canvas back on the easel.

                “Get over here,” he barked over his shoulder to Jazz.

                “What? Why?” Jazz asked, nevertheless standing and walking over to him. Jazz’s prickly energy field made Sunstreaker’s plating crawl, and it took a lot of will power to not step away. Jazz was definitely going through _something_ , all right; normally Jazz’s field was so contained you never knew he was standing next to you until he spoke up. One of the many reasons he was so good at what he did.

                Sunstreaker grabbed the older paint brushes that he had been about to toss, and shoved one into Jazz’s hand. No point in letting an amateur get a hold of one of the better brushes. They were custom made and took ages to arrive once ordered. Sunstreaker took almost as good of care of his paint brushes as his guns.

                Sunstreaker took Jazz by the shoulders and shoved him down onto Sunstreaker’s stool, Jazz’s feet barely brushing the floor. The paint palette was pushed into Jazz’s hands as Sunstreaker made quick work of lowering the easel for Jazz’s shorter height and reach. He put a hand on top of the easel and met Jazz’s optics over the top of the canvas.

                “You’re going to learn how to paint,” Sunstreaker informed him.

 

~ End Chapter 4


	5. Lists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe assess Jazz's processor state.

                 Sideswipe burst through the door to their quarters roughly two hours after Sunstreaker had contacted him. He had tried sneaking out of MedBay, but Ratchet had immediately caught him and the medic wasn’t susceptible to Sideswipe’s turbopuppy optics. Finally, after watching Sideswipe fidget badly for nearly an hour, Ratchet had thrown down his inventory list and demanded to know what was distracting Sideswipe this time. Seeing no other alternative, Sideswipe had said there was something of a personal emergency going on with Sunny and could Sideswipe please be excused before the Golden Daffodil of Doom went on a rampage?

                Ratchet had given him the squinty optic for several long seconds before huffing irritably and waving him out with the promise that Sideswipe would return to the MedBay two hours before his next shift to make up the time. Sideswipe had gladly agreed and departed post haste. He didn’t really think Sunstreaker would do anything as he was becoming tolerant of Jazz’s visits, but Jazz himself was another matter.

                So Sideswipe was prepared for anything when he walked into the room; or at least he had thought he was. Seeing Jazz and Sunstreaker cozily gathered around an easel made Sideswipe stumble to a stop before he shook off the surprise and approached the two mechs.

                “Hey, Jazz. Whatcha doing?” Sideswipe asked. He gently nudged his brother’s arm in greeting, getting an answering push in return. Sunstreaker seemed remarkably relaxed despite the situation.

                Startling a little, Jazz looked over his shoulder, visor briefly dimming before lighting up in recognition.

                “Hi, Siders! I’m painting!” Jazz replied with a wry grin. “Well, I don’t know if you could really call this painting if _I’m_ doing it.”

                _I thought if there were something to distract him…_

Sideswipe glanced sidelong at Sunstreaker. _Good idea. How’s he been doing?_

_Stable. Not all over the place like when he first came in here. He was… manic, Sides. Was I ever like that?_

_No. But I’m nearly always with you. You said he told you this all started when Prime left?_

_Yeah. Said as soon as Optimus left, it got too quiet._

_Huh,_ Sideswipe said thoughtfully.

“It’s not half bad,” Sideswipe said, coming to stand next to Jazz and looking critically at the painting. “Not Sunny’s quality, but no one’s quite as good as my bro.”

                “Suck up,” Sunstreaker muttered. But there was a pleased hint to his twin’s field.  

                Jazz laughed, wiping a hand across his face and smearing lavender across his cheek. “I wouldn’t know. He won’t let me see any finished products.”

                “That’s Sunny for ya. Hey, Jazz? Let’s talk for a second, k?” Sideswipe asked, reaching behind him to grab Jazz’s abandoned chair and pull it closer.

                Jazz stilled for a moment before carefully setting the paint supplies on the floor. “Yeah… that’s probably a good idea,” he remarked, streaking paint over the back of his helm as he rubbed it.  

                Sunstreaker paused in his reach for the paint palette and instead grabbed the ratty cloth he used to wipe his hands with, turning it over a few times before finding a clean spot. He stood over the saboteur and gripped his chin, turning his face in the opposite direction to wipe the paint from his cheek. Then he swiped the cloth across Jazz’s helm before dropping it into Jazz’s lap, gesturing at it meaningfully.

                Sideswipe had tensed as soon as his brother had reached for Jazz, but he was docile as Sunstreaker manhandled him.

                Even more intriguing.

                “Aw, you do care,” Sideswipe said, giving Sunstreaker a grin. Sunstreaker returned it with a rude human gesture.

                “Sunny said you were a little… off when you came in,” Sideswipe remarked, turning back to Jazz. The saboteur nodded, wiping his hands clean. Behind him, Sunstreaker began putting away the paint supplies.  

                “Yeah. Sunshine said I was dropping out of subspace?”

                “Mmm. Maybe. Did you and Prime talk after your session?” Sideswipe asked nonchalantly.  

                “A little. Right after… you know… things ended,” Jazz said, head ducking bashfully.

                Sideswipe raised an orbital ridge.

                “Jazz. We’ve talked a lot these past few weeks; don’t get shy on me now. Tell me what the two of you discussed.”

                Jazz sagged a little in place as Sideswipe put some command in his tone. The black and white frame leaned forward a little, a flower seeking the sun’s warmth. Sideswipe kept the frown off his face, but just barely; he had gotten Jazz to respond to him before, but never with such desperate relief in his field. In fact, it was practically unheard of to even _feel_ Jazz’s energy field in the first place.

                “He asked me how I was doing, if I needed anything. I told him it was pretty much the best day of my existence – which, totally true, by the way. I asked him if he liked it, and he said yes. Then he said he was tired, and we both recharged.”

                “Did you talk this morning?” Sideswipe inquired, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Everyone was different but that little amount of aftercare made his plating crawl. 

                “Not really. We just kinda lounged. Optimus kept petting me, like he was amazed I was still there,” Jazz said with a laugh.

                “I’m sure both of you were pretty pleased with how things went. Do you mind telling me what you had agreed on prior to the session?”

                “Naw, I don’t mind,” Jazz said, leaning forward eagerly. “Optimus said…”

                Sideswipe proceeded to carefully direct Jazz through a retelling of the entire night’s events, asking detailed questions about how Jazz felt at every point of the scene.

                “Sounds like a pretty good first time,” Sideswipe said, nearly forty minutes later. Sunstreaker had lost interest about ten minutes in and was now absorbed in a book file, lounging indolently on the nearby couch. “So, Jazz… I think you and Optimus should talk when he gets back.”

                “Did we do something wrong?” Jazz asked, looking alarmed.

                “No, no!” Sideswipe rushed to say. “There’s very little right or wrong about this stuff. I asked you a lot of questions so you can learn more about yourself.”

                Sideswipe began ticking facts off on his fingers.

                “For example, you’re pretty flexible about change ups up during a session; you went from sucking Optimus off to him fragging your mouth and you didn’t even flinch. You were disappointed about not finishing him off yourself but loved that feeling of claiming you got when he overloaded on your face. You don’t mind being bound per se, but you like the option of being able to escape it.

                “You may or may not be able to overload from pain alone, but the two together definitely rev you up. And you don’t even need to overload to reach subspace – focusing completely on a menial task got you there. That’s probably the most important for me. That tells me if you need a quick drop, the two of you won’t have to go to elaborate lengths; Pit, you could probably slide under his desk and lick his pedes until they shine and you’ll be where you need to be,” Sideswipe finished.

                 Jazz’s lips parted a little at the idea. “That…” he croaked, vocalizer rebooting with an audible click, “…that’s good to know.”

                 “I also think you’d benefit from more discussion, at least for your next few sessions. It sounds like you were well taken care of physically, but your processor needed a little something too.”

                 Jazz frowned. “You mean talking? Like this? I didn’t have the brain power for it, and I didn’t _want_ to think – that was the whole point.”

                “Well, I’m used to aftercare being immediate, but there’s no time limit on it. How do you feel now, after the painting and our talk?”

                Jazz looked surprised as he considered it. “Good, actually. Much more myself.”

                Sideswipe narrowed his optics. “’More yourself’? Elaborate on that for me. Does your head still feel good?”

                Jazz opened his mouth to respond and then closed it, thinking. “I… physically, I feel like I had a really good overload – little sore around the edges, you know? Mentally… I’m not drifting as much as last night, but I do feel… calm. Like halfway between last night and how my processor used to be. Does that make sense?”

                Sideswipe nodded, pleased. “Absolutely. That’s the type of subspace we want to keep you in. Hopefully it lingers for a while. I think you needed to rehash everything that happened last night, get confirmation that what you two did was ok. Now that you have, you should be able to enjoy your subspace a little bit better.”

                “So… speak with Optimus once I can actually focus,” Jazz summarized. “List what worked for me and what didn’t.”

                “Yup! I don’t mind talking with you, but _he’s_ your top. He needs to know this more than I do. And don’t forget to find out what worked for him too. Satisfaction from a session is more than just an overload.”

               

 ~ End            

               


	6. Relevations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus and Sunstreaker visit an art gallery and discuss Jazz.

                Optimus paused in his stroll around the gallery’s perimeter and cocked his head to the side… and then up. A large steel structure rested on the ground in front of him, stretching just shy of the tent’s ceiling. Multiple spirals emerged from the flared base and wound their way around the center column, arching outwards in random intervals and producing curling branches ending in flat, round platforms.  Optimus’ gaze traced every line of the sculpture, feeling an odd sense of recognition.

                “Vos,” a voice said behind him.

                Optimus turned to see the golden frontliner who had accompanied him on this trip to the outdoor art gallery. “Pardon?”

                “The landing towers in Vos,” Sunstreaker replied, gesturing to the sculpture. Optimus considered it again.  

                “You are right, of course,” Optimus conceded, seeing the similarities. “Although I’m sure the artist had something else in mind. Perhaps some type of natural flora. I’ll show an image capture to Hound or Perceptor; they might know of a similar tree on this planet.”

                “Hmm,” was Sunstreaker’s only reply, and he moved forward to the next piece, a large canvas held a foot off the ground by a modified easel. The colors and shapes decorating the canvas were… chaotic, to say the least.

                “What do you suppose this is?” Optimus asked, bending at the waist to get a better look. He was thankful they had been allowed to view the gallery’s art pieces prior to the official opening. It was difficult enough to move carefully in the small space when there were no humans present.

                “A mess,” Sunstreaker announced, crossing his arms over his chassis and snorting derisively. “Kinda like Jazz’s painting the other day.”

                Optimus straightened in surprise. “Jazz? He paints?”

                He had been apart from his lover for over a week now, ever since Optimus had departed the Ark for a string of appearances up and down the West Coast. Surprisingly, he had made every promised appointment, the Decepticons showing no signs of trouble. While the lull in the fighting was appreciated for many reasons, he had almost wished for a Decepticon attack requiring his presence. Not for the battle of course, but for a chance to see the lithe form of the saboteur he had been sorely missing.

                Sunstreaker shrugged. “Not really. I just gave him some paint to distract him.”

                Optimus stared after the frontliner as he continued on to the next painting, an idyllic scene of the Plains. “Distract him? Distract him from what? How has he been?”

                Sunstreaker looked up from the painting at his feet with a sneer on his handsome faceplates. “Boring.”

                “He’s been… boring?” Optimus asked, confused.

                The frontliner rolled his optics, a habit he had unfortunately picked up from his brother. “No,” he said, voice practically dripping with disdain. “That waste of canvas is boring. Jazz is fine. At least now.”

                The next piece of art appeared to be a portion of wall from an abandoned building, nearly as high as Sunstreaker’s hips, and composed of wood and exposed brick. Optimus quickly dismissed it in favor of the frontliner’s troubling words, yet Sunstreaker bent at the waist, closely scrutinizing the jagged pieces of rebar that protruded from the vertical surface.  

                “Now? That implies he was not before. What happened?” Optimus demanded, looming over the shorter warrior.  

                Sunstreaker looked up at him through narrowed optics, obviously not impressed by Optimus’ urgency. He shrugged again, hand reaching out to trace patterns in the air above the sharp pieces of rebar.

                “I thought he was dropping; Sides said he just needed to talk. And you weren’t there… so he came to us,” Sunstreaker remarked, straightening and giving Optimus an incomprehensible look before moving on.

                Optimus’ mouth opened and then slammed back shut as he hurried after the golden twin. “What did he need to talk about? Should I have done something differently?”

                Fear and worry spread through his lines. He had thought he had left Jazz a purring, sated pile of limbs, but apparently he had been wrong.

                “Maybe you should talk to Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker said, looking at Optimus warily. The warrior’s field was drawn in tight and he was stiff, leaning away from the grip Optimus had on Sunstreaker’s elbow. Optimus looked down at his own hand in surprise, hastily yanking it back.

                “My apologies,” Optimus said, stepping back and bowing his head. If he had been anyone else, he probably would be missing a hand right now; Sunstreaker did not tolerate casual touches. “Please. That type of conversation should not be held over public lines.”

                Sunstreaker studied him a moment, hand absently rubbing the area where Optimus had grabbed him. “Sides said he needed more aftercare,” Sunstreaker reluctantly began.

                “More? I kept him warm, I gave him energon, I stayed by his side. What else could I have done?” Optimus interrupted defensively, an odd feeling of desperation suffusing him. He had thought everything had gone well. Jazz had overloaded spectacularly and had seemed calm and happy at the end of their session.

                “Apparently talked to him more,” Sunstreaker retorted before spinning on his heel and moving on to the next exhibit, another landscape. Sunstreaker took one glance at it and kept on going.

                “I don’t understand,” Optimus said, fretting. “I asked him if he needed anything, and he said no.”

                Sunstreaker looked over his shoulder at Optimus, expression verging on annoyed. “He doesn’t know what he needs. That’s your job to figure out.”

                Fighting to keep his own exasperation and worry under control, Optimus took in a large ventilation before slowly releasing it. “How am _I_ supposed to know? I don’t have a twin bond to assist me.”

                Sunstreaker turned and faced Optimus squarely. “We don’t use our bond during sessions. Sideswipe relies on instinct, I think. And then after, he never shuts up with the questions. ‘How’d this feel? What if we did it that way?’ He spent almost an hour with Jazz, going over every moment of your session.”

                “An hour?” Optimus repeated faintly. What did Sideswipe learn in that hour?

                “It’s not Perceptor-type science,” Sunstreaker replied. “Just ask.”

                With that, Sunstreaker strode off down the aisle, turning the corner to the next row of sculptures. Optimus hurried after the warrior.

                “Why doesn’t he _tell_ me?” Optimus demanded, catching up with Sunstreaker as he paused to study a conglomeration of what looked to be knitting needles.

                “Huh,” Sunstreaker murmured, reaching out a finger to very gently touch the topmost point. “Hmm… oh… I don’t know. He probably doesn’t even know what to say.”

                “Do you?” Optimus inquired.

                Sunstreaker looked up at Optimus, startled. “Do I what?”

                “You said Sideswipe always asks you question afterwards. Are you not comfortable saying what you like?”

                Sunstreaker slowly straightened, looking taken back. “I… don’t mind talking about it. But I never bring it up, actually.”

                “Why?” Optimus pressed, curious. Was it a submissive trait? Jazz had never been one to be afraid to speak his opinion before all this dominance play had entered their lives.

                “I… well… I guess…” Sunstreaker said haltingly, looking off to the side in embarrassment. “The questions… they’re another way he cares for me. And… I like that.”

                “Thank you, Sunstreaker,” Optimus said, knowing the admission to be difficult. While he and Sideswipe had discussed dominance play before, this was the first time he had ever truly broached the topic with Sunstreaker.

                Sunstreaker shrugged off the gratitude, obviously still uncomfortable. “I think Sides recorded his talk with Jazz so you could listen to it. Jazz should come to you, but… it’s hard sometimes.”

                “What is?” Optimus inquired, desperate for an insight into his partner’s processor.

                “Speaking up,” Sunstreaker admitted. “At least… for me. ‘Course, Jazz took forever to even come to you, so maybe I’m not the only one.”

                “Why is it hard?”

                Sunstreaker hesitated, looking back at the knitting needles. “No matter how many times Sides says he likes what we do, I… I always worry I’m a freak for wanting it… that he’s just humoring me.”

                Optimus looked down upon the bent head of the brash frontliner who never seemed to lack for courage on the battlefield yet now seemed so uncertain.

                “Sideswipe... _settles_ into himself when he speaks of the sessions with you. I do not think he is humoring you in the slightest,” Optimus carefully said. “I think he thrives on the experience as much as you.”

                “Yeah, I know… I _do_ know that. But if _I_ have doubts sometimes… about my own _twin brother_ … just think about Jazz. This isn’t a passing thing for him; he _needs_ it. And he needs to know you support him. He’s still learning what that looks like, but right now that’s really just talking to him. Get me?”

                Optimus slowly nodded, processor whirling madly. He had been romantically involved with Jazz for only a few months and dominance play was a big step. Optimus was suddenly ashamed of the minimal attention he had paid Jazz after their session had ended.

                Well. That would certainly change.

 

~ End

 

               

                 

 

 

               

                 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda wanted this whole scene to revolve around Sunny going off on a pompous art critic, but 1 - it didn't fit in my 1500 word limit and 2 - I know nothing about art so I wouldn't do it justice. My headcanon however, states that Sunstreaker is a big fan of abstract art, particularly sculptures.


	7. Recriminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz visits the MedBay and Ratchet gives him a little talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct follow up to 'Punishments'.

                Pain woke him.

                It was an insidious, progressive burn, prompting his frame to online and address the issue. But when Jazz unshuttered his optics and experimentally shifted, he realized there was nothing _he_ was going to be able to do about this particular problem.

                Jazz focused on ventilating evenly for a brief moment, doing his best to compartmentalize the pain. When he had his reactions better under control, he looked around warily.

                Thank Primus. His reflexive jerk hadn’t woken Optimus. Though, to be honest, Optimus was a bit of a deep sleeper. Jazz’s SpecOps training had something to say about that, but Jazz had full confidence if an intruder suddenly broke into Optimus’ quarters, the Autobot leader would be on his feet and ready for action in seconds. Whereas Jazz’s systems often confused normal sounds and others’ spark energies as danger.

                Hopefully, with more sessions, that hypervigilance would fade a little.

                Moving slowly and carefully, Jazz extricated himself from beneath Optimus’ out flung arm. Once standing, he looked down at himself to see every trace of their earlier activities gone; other than the lack of paint of his knees, of course. Jazz remembered falling into recharge atop Optimus as well, rather than tucked up against the larger mech’s side. Optimus must have cleaned them both before going offline.

                Jazz took a moment to gaze upon his lover, memorizing the peaceful, sleeping features of the mech who took such good care of him. How did Jazz get so lucky?

                Well… lingering wouldn’t get his shoulder fixed any sooner. Checking his chronometer, he realized there was only an hour until the next shift started. Optimus was sure to have set his own alarm, but Jazz didn’t want his lover to worry when he awoke and found himself alone. So Jazz sent a non-urgent, vague communique to his lover, letting Optimus know Jazz had needed to do a few things prior to his long range patrol.  

                It wouldn’t do to let Optimus know Jazz had had to go into Medical to have his shoulder looked at. Jazz adored Optimus, but the mech hoarded guilt like a dragon with gold. He would be horrified to know he was the cause of Jazz’s injury. But the fact was, he had been in pain ever since Optimus had lifted Jazz by his bound arms; at first he had thought it to be a pinched cable, but this was so much more than that.

                Jazz suspected a torn sensory cluster with the way invisible fire kept licking down his arm, but a medic would know best. And… well, frag. Ratchet was on duty. Jazz dithered about his decision to admit himself to MedBay for a few moments, but in the end, he had no choice. There were many injuries he could fix himself, but not those of the sensory system. That was delicate work. And Ratchet was the best suited for it.

                Resigned, Jazz quietly left Optimus’ quarters and headed off to his doom.

\--

                At least the MedBay was empty, Jazz observed as he entered. No one else around to hear the recriminations of the CMO once he realized the extent of Jazz’s injury.

                Moments later the Unmaker himself poked his head out of his office, sharp gaze immediately zeroing in on the entryway doors. His lipplates pursed as he caught sight of Jazz, optics narrowing dangerously.

                “What did you do to yourself?” Ratchet asked, emerging from his office and gesturing Jazz towards the nearest exam table.

                “Training exercise,” Jazz glibly responded, striding over and hopping up onto the padded surface. His legs swung idly as the medic approached.

                “That’s not on the roster. And what were you all practicing? How to crawl through acid?” Ratchet demanded, knocking a knuckle against Jazz’s closest knee.

                “Naw, just me on my free time. Always working on my skills. Was going through some of those small tunnels at the aft end of the Ark, checking to see if the walls were still holding up. Slipped and banged myself up,” Jazz explained, turning and pointing at his injured shoulder.

                Ratchet blinked at him once, tilting his head to the side in consideration. “You. Slipped.”

                Jazz shrugged his good shoulder, affecting his most innocent look. “It happens.”

                “Uh huh. Alright,” Ratchet said with a sigh. “Let’s have a look, then.”

                Ratchet withdrew a scanner from subspace and passed it over Jazz’s shoulder. After a moment, Ratchet frowned. “Primus on a pogo stick, Jazz. Your rotator cuff and associated sensory nodes have been torn away from their cranial attachments on your shoulder… who did this to you?”

                Ratchet’s bright blue optics bored into Jazz’s, even from behind the visor, and Jazz jerked backwards from the vehemence of Ratchet’s demand.

                “Wha… no one did this to me, Ratchet, I told ya…”

                “Yeah, you ‘slipped’. And I’m red and white and jolly. Are you still seeing Optimus?”

                Jazz was frankly a little taken back by the Christmas reference, and so he wasn’t as quick on the uptake as he should have been. “He didn’t mean…”

                “I knew it! I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!” Ratchet exclaimed, throwing the scanner down onto the berth next to Jazz. “Then Sideswipe after because I’m sure he’s a part of this too!”

                “Ratch, no!” Jazz cried, clamping a hand on one of Ratchet’s wildly waving arms. “Don’t tell Optimus!”

                “And why shouldn’t I? Why haven’t you?!”

                Jazz shook his head rapidly. “It would kill him. You know it would. It was an accident. I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

                Ratchet jerked his hand out of Jazz’s grasp and glared at his patient. For the first time in a long while, Jazz cowered a little under that hard stare. “Yes. It _will_ never occur again, because you will tell him how it actually happened in the first place. And you’ll both do more research next time. Jazz, you can get very hurt playing like this. Your arms were pulled up way too tightly behind your back for the amount of stress placed on that joint.”

                Jazz’s mouth dropped open. “How did… how did you know where my arms were?”

                Ratchet dramatically threw his own arms up in the air. “Because I’m older than even you, Jazz. I’ve seen and treated a lot of things; that particular injury only happens very rarely and unless you’ve visited the Decepticon brig lately, I’m betting Optimus had you tied up.”

                “I asked him to,” Jazz retorted defensively. “Don’t blame him.”

                “I _am_ blaming him. He shouldn’t be doing things to you unless he knows the possible consequences! And I thought Sideswipe was helping you two idiots! Did he tell you to do this?” Ratchet demanded.

                “No! Primus, Ratch, stop going after everyone like a rabid turbodog. I just asked Siders for the rope; I told him it would be for my wrists. Then after, I saw a bind in an article on the humans’ internet and I changed my mind on what I wanted. And no, I didn’t do any research on it. So it’s my own damn fault. Can you just fix me now?” Jazz retorted wearily. The peace and quiet in his processor wasn’t gone completely, but it sure was fading fast in the face of Ratchet’s anger.

                “I should leave you like this as a lesson,” Ratchet replied angrily.

                “You know you’re not gonna to, Ratch. I’m on patrol in an hour.”

                Ratchet snorted. “No, you’re not. You’re on leave for the next day; I just commed Prowl. That,” Ratchet said, pointing at Jazz’s shoulder, “is going to require full shutdown and at least a two hour long surgery to repair.”

                Jazz sighed in defeat. He had both suspected and dreaded Ratchet would say something like that.

                “Didn’t mean to keep you past your shift, Ratch,” Jazz said glumly. 

                “You can make it up to me by speaking with your partner. If Optimus doesn’t know he made a mistake, he’s likely to repeat it. And then you’ll end up in here again.”

                “How much do you know about the twins?” Jazz asked, abruptly changing the topic. It was both curiosity and deflection. The talk with Optimus was inevitable; there was no way Jazz could hide the injury from him now. Patient-medic confidentiality was one thing, but Optimus was going to get wind of the fact Jazz had been taken off the duty roster for the day.

                “Enough. I know they fragged up last year, and they haven’t been back since. Well… at least not for berth-related injuries. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I think Sideswipe knows what he’s doing,” Ratchet said grudgingly.

                “Just because they haven’t been back to the MedBay?”Jazz questioned in disbelief.

                “No,” Ratchet said, turning to face Jazz, expression serious. “Because Sunstreaker is no longer a snarling bundle of hate and anger. You don’t have that problem, Jazz; in fact, I don’t know _what_ you’re looking for, but I hope to Primus you find it before you get seriously hurt.”

 

~ End


	8. Frustrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe and Ratchet find they have more in common than they once thought

                Ratchet didn’t even look up when the main door chime went off. Hoist was on duty and could handle everything but the most delicate repairs. Like this one.

                He shook his head again, frowning. He couldn’t believe Jazz hadn’t informed, or had been planning to inform, Optimus of the injury. He was old enough to know better, even if he was new to dominance play.

                About half an hour later, he felt his backplate itch. He clamped off an energon line before looking over his shoulder, nearly having a spark attack when his gaze met another’s. He hadn’t _actually_ expected someone to be there.

                “Frag!” Ratchet spat. “Sideswipe, what the Pit are you doing in here?!”

                Sideswipe uncrossed his arms and took a step closer, craning his head to try and get a glimpse of the offlined patient in front of Ratchet.

                “Elbow’s acting up again. Hoist took care of it; oiled it,” he said nonchalantly, tapping the joint in question. “What happened to Jazz?”

                “None of your business,” Ratchet replied brusquely, turning his back on the frontliner. Most others would take that to mean they were dismissed, but not Sideswipe. 

                “Looks like he messed his shoulder up pretty bad, huh?” Sideswipe commented softly. “… rotator cuff?”

                Ratchet’s head whipped up, but his retort faded from his lips when he saw Sideswipe’s expression. Ratchet had always found both twins easy to read; he’d had plenty of practice. The medical bay was one of the few places they were free with their emotions, especially when the other’s life was on the line. So it was no difficulty at all to read the concern in Sideswipe’s gaze. Or the anger.

                “I can’t say anything, Sideswipe. Patient confidentiality.” 

                “You’re not telling me anything I can’t see for myself,” Sideswipe said matter of factly.

                Damn. Little brat had a point. Nevertheless, this was a relatively sterile operating room and Ratchet had no idea what grime was covering Sideswipe’s frame.

                “This is a clean room, Sides. When Jazz is up, I’m sure he’ll talk to you about it,” Ratchet said, trying for a reasonable approach.

                “He won’t have to. I know someone else I can ask,” Sideswipe replied, threat clear in his tone. He was halfway through the door before the sound of Ratchet’s voice paused him.

                “Stop right there. This isn’t your business. You can give them all the resources on this planet and any other, but what they choose to do with it is on them,” Ratchet warned, thoughts whirling. The amount of protectiveness Sideswipe was projecting over someone who wasn’t his twin was a little surprising.

                “One – make up your mind. Should I stay or should I go? And two… you really think I shouldn’t say anything!?” Sideswipe exclaimed, looking at Ratchet in disbelief. “You probably know as well as I do how his shoulder got hurt. I gave them the fragging _rope_!”

                And there was the guilt. Ratchet had seen that plenty of times before too.

                “But you didn’t use it on him. They’re learning, Sides. Accidents happen. You know that better than anyone,” Ratchet retorted.

                Sideswipe jerked in place at the reminder of the incident last year. “Ouch, Ratch. Way to hurt a guy,” he said, bitterly, holding his chest above his spark.

                “They’ll learn from their mistakes. Just like you did,” Ratchet replied. He just hoped those mistakes weren’t either fatal or traumatizing. He had certainly been worried about Sideswipe last year. The crimson frontliner had been visibly shaken when he had brought Sunstreaker in.

                “I’m just trying to keep them from making mistakes in the first place,” Sideswipe grumbled, gazing down at Jazz.

                “They’re fully grown mechs, Sideswipe. You’re not their creator, nor are you their top. You can’t dictate every one of their moves,” Ratchet said gently.

                Sideswipe’s head shot up, optics wide. “… why did you send him to _us_ , Ratchet?”

                “Seemed like the best option at the time.” Fragitall. He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. Sideswipe didn’t have Prowl’s intelligence, but the warrior was intuitive and could make logic leaps which were frankly astounding.

                “After everything that happened last year?” Sideswipe demanded.

                Ratchet sighed, bending his head over the surgical site and magnifying his vision. “Like I said – _you_ learned from _your_ mistakes. I’ve never seen either of you back again for injuries like this,” Ratchet replied, pointing at Jazz. “And Sunstreaker is much more level. You must be doing something right.”

                “How do you know _I’m_ doing it?”

                Ratchet looked up, the frontliner a bit blurry from the enhanced vision program. The medic tried for his best innocent expression. “I don’t know anything really.”

                Sideswipe took a few steps forward, expression shrewd as he studied Ratchet. “Why don’t I believe that?”

                “Believe what you want, Sideswipe. Now I am doing some intricate surgery here, so if you don’t mind…”

                “Go right ahead, I don’t,” Sideswipe chirped then paused. “Do you… do _you_ enjoy a little bondage in the berth, Ratchet?”

                Ratchet did his best to resist throwing the entire tray of tools at the twin’s head. Didn’t the little menace ever know when to stop? Oh, wait. This was Sideswipe.

                “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Sides.” As soon as he said it, Ratchet realized his mistake.

                “You do!” Sideswipe crowed, pointing at him in triumph. “No wonder you can get everyone to cower at your feet.”

                Ratchet’s head snapped up and he gestured at the room in exasperation. “Not you. Not really.”

                The grin faded from Sideswipe’s face as he shrugged. “If you really wanted me out of here, you’d’ve commed Ironhide to drag me out. So you know things. Why didn’t you just talk to Jazz when he first asked you? That’s probably why he came to you in the first place – you’ve been around for ages. Must have picked up a lot of tricks. Oh, Primus, can we compare notes some time?” he asked eagerly. “I’ve wanted to try sounding but I’m not quite sure what to use.”

                If Ratchet’s hands hadn’t been sterilized he would have buried his face in them. As it was, he shuttered his optics and counted quickly to twenty. And then one hundred, because this was Sideswipe he was dealing with here.

                “I haven’t practiced in a very long time, Sides. Nor do I have the time or mental capacity to indulge in that type of mentorship for Jazz and Optimus. Not with how frequently you all try to offline yourselves on the battlefield,” Ratchet countered wearily.

               “Mentorship…” Sideswipe said slowly. “Is that a thing?”

               “Used to be. Especially for the mecha interested in the more extreme forms of play which can result in heavy damage,” Ratchet said, pointing at Jazz.

               “Huh,” was Sideswipe’s only answer. Ratchet could practically see that devious little mind consider thought after thought and wondered what Sideswipe was going to end up with.

               “So… when a mentor’s mentoree did something really dumb, what did that mentor normally end up doing?” Sideswipe finally asked.

               Ratchet shook his head, taking the compressed air line and carefully directing the stream of it into the depths of Jazz’s shoulder. The former attachments were now completely removed, the site ready for the newly strung sensory lines. “Well, they didn’t go off and interrogate them, that’s for sure. They had a nice, calm conversation about what went wrong and how to avoid it in the future.”

               Sideswipe ducked his head sheepishly. “Uh… right. Calm. Ratchet…”

               “Mmmm?” Ratchet absently asked, carefully picking up the sterile rotator cuff and sliding it into Jazz’s shoulder socket with a soft ‘click’.

               “Sometimes I have no idea what I’m doing,” Sideswipe confessed.

               Ratchet paused with the soldering instrument poised above a dense nerve cluster. “That’s life, Sideswipe.”

               “Yeah, but…”

               “Sideswipe,” Ratchet sighed, effectively shutting the warrior up. “You haven’t survived as long as you have, doing what you do, by luck alone. A lot of that is instinct… which I’m sure serve you well in the berth too. Trust them. I don’t have the energy to mentor you and your brother either.”

               “Not even a little? I mean, what about advice on…” Sideswipe began hopefully.

               “No! Get out, you glitched hellion! Can’t you see I’m busy? Jazz probably would have been awake by now if you hadn’t come in!” Ratchet shouted, finally reaching his limit.

               “All right, all right. Geez, don’t blow a gasket, old man,” Sideswipe muttered and then skipped backwards a step with a grin on his face as Ratchet jerked in an aborted movement to come around the table. Sterile, he reminded himself.

               “Out!” Ratchet growled through clenched denta.

               “I’m going, I’m going,” Sideswipe replied with a roll of his optics. “Hey… when Jazz wakes up, tell him I’m off shift this evening if he needs to talk.”

               “He has access to the duty roster; I’m sure he can find you if he wants to,” Ratchet replied. There was no _way_ he was going to be a go between for these idiots.

 

  ~ End Chapter

 


	9. Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz reluctantly talks with Optimus about Jazz's injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to 'Intense' near the end.

                When Jazz awoke in recovery, there was already a message in his communications queue from Optimus. It was vague and politely worded, but Jazz had been around the bigger ‘bot long enough to read between the lines. Optimus was concerned.  

                Ugh. He dreaded facing those guilt-filled optics. That sad gaze hit Jazz in the spark every single time.

                Well. No use in putting it off. Jazz rolled to his side and then carefully sat up, gingerly rotating his arm. It felt stiff with the presence of new hardware, but that was to be expected and could be worked out with time and careful mobility exercises.

                There was another unread message in his HUD, this one from Ratchet. Jazz opened it and read the note about his postop instructions as well as a warning to stay out of trouble.

Jazz snorted. Where was the fun in that?

\--

                The door to Optimus’ office/quarters was closed when Jazz arrived. He squinted at it for several moments before squaring his shoulders and sending an entry ping. Seconds later a reply came back, bidding him enter.

                Damn. Was it too much to hope Optimus was in a meeting with someone and this could be done at another time?

                Ex-venting, Jazz opened the door, affixing a smile to his face. “Hey, Op, how’s it… Oh.”

                Jazz came to a halt just inside the doorway, staring at the two mechs sitting across from one another at Optimus’ desk. Sideswipe raised a hand and waved.

                Uncle Top was going to be in on this too, apparently. Peachy.

                “Jazz,” Optimus greeted warmly, rising from his chair. He took several strides around the desk and then enfolded Jazz in strong arms. “I’m glad to see you up and about so quickly.”

                In that moment, with Optimus’s heat and scent encompassing him, Jazz felt all his apprehension fade away. This was how all conversations should start – cuddles and hugs.

                But then it ended. Optimus pulled back, hands on Jazz’s shoulders. “How are you doing?”

                “100%,” Jazz answered truthfully. Ratchet had topped off Jazz’s fluids and tweaked a few things while he was out. He felt _good_ , refreshed and ready for anything. Except this conversation.

                “I’m happy to hear that. I understand you were in the MedBay for a large portion of the day. Are you comfortable telling me what Ratchet saw you for?” Optimus inquired, taking a step back. He clasped his hands together in front of his stomach and looked both earnest and accepting.

                “Torn rotator cuff. Had to be replaced,” Jazz replied warily.

                Optimus nodded. “And did… did that happen during our session?”

                His voice wavered on the last word, and Jazz’s spark contracted in dismay. He looked over at Sideswipe, but the twin’s expression was carefully blank. Seeing he would get no assistance from that quarter, Jazz transferred his gaze back at Optimus.

                “Uh, yeah. I really thought it was a pinched line at first. It happened when you lifted me by my arms,” Jazz explained, bracing himself for his lover’s reaction.

                Optimus blinked in confusion before realization dawned. His expression crumpled into one of distress. “I see.”

                Before Jazz could say or do anything, Sideswipe spoke up. “Prime. Remember what I said.”

                Jazz looked between the two mechs, wondering what they had been discussing before Jazz had arrived. And why was Sideswipe here anyway? Ratchet would never go into the details of a patient’s condition, so how had Sideswipe known Jazz had been injured?

                Optimus shot a glance over his shoulder at the warrior and nodded. “Yes, of course.”

                He turned back to Jazz. “Thank you for telling me. I apologize for the damage I caused. I cannot say I will never harm you again, but I will make certain that I do not repeat that particular mistake.”

                The words sounded partially rehearsed despite the obvious earnestness with which Optimus said them. Jazz squinted at his lover and then once more at Sideswipe.

                “How did you know?” Jazz demanded finally.

                “Stopped by the ‘Bay to have my elbow looked at. Saw Ratchet doing surgery on you,” Sideswipe replied with a shrug. “It took about two seconds to see what he was doing and another to figure out how you got hurt.”

                Sideswipe gestured at Optimus. “Boss bot found out you were pulled from duty and asked me to stop by. We discussed the possibility that you had been injured during the session and what that meant for the two of you. I didn’t tell him what I knew, though. Figured I would let you do that yourself. I’m glad you did. It takes courage for a new sub to tell their top about injuries.”

                Jazz ducked his head. “I uh… I wasn’t going to. Ratchet bullied me into it.”

                The red twin let out a snort of laughter. “I’m not surprised. You understand why he did?”

                Crossing his arms over his chest, Jazz nodded reluctantly, looking down at the floor. It was very clean; most mecha didn’t give the maintenance bots enough credit. “Yeah. I guess.”

                “You weren’t going to tell me?” Optimus inquired, taking a step forward and brushing his fingers over Jazz’s elbow.

                “I didn’t want you to feel bad. Guilt is like your default emotion,” Jazz complained, throwing his hands up.

                “But I could have done it again and not known. And the last thing I want to do is hurt you,” Optimus replied gently. “The guilt is well deserved, but it will fade.”

                “Will it?” Jazz challenged. “Cuz I know you, Opt. You feel responsibility for everyone and everything. And hurting me is kinda the goal.”

                “Sideswipe and I have discussed my… propensity for guilt, and ways to manage that. At least in these sessions. It has helped some,” Optimus said, nodding gratefully in Sideswipe’s direction. “I understand pain is something you wish for at times, but despite that, you visited Ratchet and had yourself repaired. So you surely understand the difference between various levels of discomfort.”

                “Course I do,” Jazz replied in exasperation. “Couldn’t do my job with my shoulder busted. I know the difference, Opt. But do you? Because I saw the look on your face when you slapped me. If you can barely tolerate a split lip, how can you handle a torn joint?”

                Optimus took a step back, his expression troubled. Before he could say anything, Sideswipe stood up.

                “That’s not your call to make, Jazz,” the warrior explained. “It’s up to him to work out what he can and can’t handle. Holding back information won’t make things easier on him, only harder. Do you trust Optimus?”

                “Of course I trust him!” Jazz responded hotly, staring at Sideswipe in astonishment. “I wouldn’t be letting him tie me up if I didn’t.”

                “Then why didn’t you trust him with the truth of your injuries? You have to believe that as he’s taking care of you, he’ll be taking care of himself. And if you notice that he’s not… if he’s doing things you can see are bothering him but he’s not saying anything – that’s when you start a conversation. It’s perfectly fine to feel guilt or to feel bad about the other party feeling guilty. But say so,” Sideswipe stated looking back and forth between them. “Not talking about things will end badly.”

                 “ _Thoroughly_ ,” Sideswipe added after a pause. “Talk things over thoroughly. Do you understand?”

                 Jazz pressed his lips together and nodded without speaking, still doubtful.

                 Optimus ex-vented heavily. “Yes, I understand, Sideswipe. Withholding information could impede our progress. I must be truthful with Jazz when I have misgivings about a proposed scenario, so we can find alternatives which stretch both our comfort levels.”

                 “Exactly right, Prime,” Sideswipe said gracing Optimus with a small smile. He immediately looked back at Jazz, though, gaze boring into the visor. “Jazz? Get me?”

                 “Yeah, yeah, Sides. I get you,” Jazz said, waving a hand dismissively.

                 Faster than Jazz thought Sideswipe could move, the warrior caught Jazz’s arm by the wrist and squeezed gently. “You’re just agreeing with me to get me off your case, Jazz. What can I do or say to make you understand how important talking things out are?”

                 Jazz stilled under Sideswipe’s intense stare. “I… uh…”

                 “I raped my own brother,” Sideswipe said, apropos of nothing. Jazz jerked in surprise, Optimus making a shocked noise.  

                 “I manipulated him. I pushed his limits, yet I didn’t give him a safeword. I thought I knew best, and I hurt him. That haunts me, Jazz. No matter how much Sunstrearker’s forgiven me, I can never take that back. If I had only talked with him before we popped panels, really talked, that wouldn’t have happened,” Sideswipe said solemnly. “Don’t be me. Don’t let yourself get hurt because you thought Optimus wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. Do you understand?”

                Sideswipe released Jazz’s arm, and he reflexively rubbed at the wrist. “Yeah, Sideswipe. I’m sorry. I get it, promise.”

                But it could never get that bad between Optimus and himself.

                Right?

  
~End            


End file.
